That Line We Walk
by SquintyCrossBowman
Summary: Rick and Daryl scout for supplies and end up holed up in a gas station store. Things that neither ever saw coming occur and bring to the front their true feelings.
1. Chapter 1: Exchanging Lies

Rick stopped and held his hand up, pistol raised. His back to the wall, he slowly craned his head around the corner. He felt quiet eyes beside him, watching, waiting for a word.

Carefully, Rick lifted his gaze, finger brushing the trigger of his gun. It was heavy in his hand, heavy as the silent air in which he held his breath. A soft shift of fabric next to him and the scuff of a notched arrow. Daryl was waiting for a signal, a confirmation, anything. He wasn't the kind of man to charge round a corner, guns blazing. No, he'd let the leader go first. Rick was grateful for that.

Around the corner shuffled seven walkers. Two female, one withered and limping, the other sinewy and wide-eyed under its lank blonde hair. Five males. All groaning, aimlessly shambling in circles. Rick turned back to Daryl, whose eyes flicked up to meet his. He was leaning low, ready to move.

"Seven," Rick whispered. Daryl didn't speak but his head nodded a fraction. He raised the crossbow to his face, squinting down the sights. Again, waiting for Rick's signal. The sheriff breathed in slowly then exhaled. He nodded.

The two burst around the corner. Rick swung his knife into the nearest walker's head, splitting skull and spraying brains across the ground. It fell, gurgling bloodily. The next went down as easily as the first. Across from Rick, Daryl swiftly took the two female walkers down before they could even turn, arrows shooting straight into their eyes. He drew a serrated blade from his belt and slashed another across the throat before driving the blade into its eye. Daryl looked across, gaze matching Rick's. The crossbow swung up and an arrow was fired. Rick barely had time to blink as it whistled past his face into the forehead of a walker directly behind him.

"What're you lookin' at?" Daryl shouted. "Get your ass moving!"

Rick shook his head before turning, drawing his knife back and plunging it into the rotted cheek of a walker. The blade crunched upwards, into its brain, splattering blood over his hand. Behind him, Daryl dispatched the final walker with a length of pipe to the eye. The sound fell back to wind and bugs chirping, above which Rick could hear his and Daryl's panting as they caught their breath. Daryl slung his crossbow back and fixed the sheriff with a narrow eyed stare. Rick looked back.

"What?" he asked. Daryl snorted, a dry 'pffft' sound Rick had heard often.

"You know what," he said as he crouched to search the walkers' bodies, rummaging through their pockets. He tossed some rusted coins, lint and wrappers over his shoulder. Rick watched one roll past his foot and ran a hand through his hair.

"I know?" he asked. Daryl stopped and looked up at him.

"Don't play dumb. You stop fightin' just to stand and watch? What, you want my bow or somethin'?"

Rick didn't reply. He kept his eyes out towards the fields they had crossed for any stray walkers. Eventually, Daryl stood, wiping his hands on his pants.

"Nothin'," he muttered. No bullets, pocket knife, no useful items at all. He snorted again. "And you. Stop lyin' or this ain't gonna work out."

"I ain't lying," Rick replied, though he hesitated slightly. He knew Daryl would've caught on to his tone. If he had, he said nothing, just shifted his crossbow again. Fixed Rick with another stare.

"Let's go."

They continued on, pushing past the parking lot and towards the abandoned gas station store. No walkers inside. Rick rattled the door and groaned – it was tied on the inside with rope. Daryl looked across.

"Come on, idiot, just cut it with your knife."

"I can't, the door's too heavy to do both," Rick shot back, holding it open with his back. Even then it was a strain. Daryl drew his knife and wordlessly reached across, elbow brushing Rick's chest, sawing the rope. It was tougher than it looked and he had to pause, readjust the knife. He glanced at Rick – that half-second flick of the eyes he often did, possibly checking Rick's face for expression, maybe just … looking. Rick felt a strange tightness in his chest but he swallowed and it went away. Mostly.

"Goddamn door," Daryl muttered, sawing with the knife again, this time leaning in so he wasn't sawing at an awkward angle. Rick had to draw his arms in as to not touch Daryl's side. Finally, the rope snapped and the door swung out, causing Rick to fall into the room. A thin smile crossed Daryl's face.

"Nice goin'," he snorted, walking past Rick and stooping to pull a pair of handcuffs from his backpack. He locked the door shut, handle fixed to metal display cabinet. The magazine cabinet itself was bolted to the floor. For the first time since they set out to scout, the two could relax.

Rick checked the windows. All were boarded over with wood and nails, the slivers of light streaming in bright enough to illuminate the interior. Daryl had placed his crossbow down and was peering at the food in the store – cereal bars, old protein shakes, stale bread and melted ice cream. He snatched up the least torn plastic bag and began to pack items into it. Rick watched. After a while, Daryl slowed. He looked at Rick with a scowl.

"Man, stop watchin' me so much!" he snapped. He turned back to the bars. "It's fuckin' weird."

"Sorry, I …" Rick had no excuses. He just trailed off, tearing his eyes away from Daryl reaching to get cans at the back of a shelf.

His arms were stretched out. Muscles shifted under the skin. How did Daryl keep them that way? Rick wondered. Probably from lifting the crossbow all day.

The same feeling returned to his chest. He rubbed it but it wasn't pain, nor … physical. Rick sighed and went to gather supplies too. As he went, his eyes drifted to outside. He froze.

On the other side of the room, Daryl saw him stop and stood slowly. His eyes flicked to his bow.

"What is it?" he hissed. Rick held up a hand to still him. He leaned in to the window, squinting one eye shut.

"Walkers," he breathed.

A whole herd of them. Heading towards the gas station. Drawn by what, Rick couldn't say, but he knew they couldn't make a run for it. Even as he considered it, he heard the telltale footsteps of walkers moving past the outside walls too. They were surrounded.

Daryl seemed to have heard too as he turned, eyes moving to the back door of the store. Outside, walkers moved slowly, milling around, able to smell the survivors without locating them. He crouched low and moved quick, getting to the door. Rick ducked so he couldn't be seen through the gaps in the window boards. Metres away, Daryl was drawing the nightstick from his belt and slotting it through the D-shaped handle of the metal back door, jamming the other end so it couldn't be forced open. He stood then, breathing out, back to the wall. Something scratched the door from the outside and they both tensed.

"Now what?" Daryl asked, his voice hushed. Rick shrugged a shoulder, sweat beading his brow. The herd was large and didn't seem to be leaving anytime soon. He licked his lips.

"We wait," he replied.

Daryl and Rick sat with their legs side-by-side, backs to opposite aisles, cards in hand. Rick flicked one onto the ground between them.

"Y'sure?" Daryl asked, eyes lingering on Rick's. Piles of bottletops sat beside each of them. Makeshift chips. Rick nodded. He added another card to his five and frowned at them. He pushed some tops to the middle.

"Call it," he said. It sounded right to say. Both had forgotten how to play poker exactly, but neither cared. It passed some time.

Both showed their hands. Daryl held out four of a kind. Rick sighed and handed across his pair of queens. Daryl laughed, a quiet, harsh sound.

"Come on, man. You can do better than that crap."

Rick set his head back against labels reading old names of products and faded prices, letting his hands fall to his lap. Daryl's head tilted.

"What, you bored?" he asked. It was ambiguous as to if he sounded amused or offended. Rick's head lolled forwards as he moved to look at Daryl.

"What do you think?" he asked dryly. Daryl snorted – that soft 'pffft' sound that made Rick's chest tighten – as he stood.

"Man, you're so weak," he said, looking across the store rather than at Rick.

Then Daryl stretched. One arm up, the other bent, loosening a crick in his back. Rick found himself staring and cleared his throat, turning his face as Daryl opened his eyes.

"I'm checking the windows again," Rick said, pushing himself to his feet. The back of his throat was burning, a choking feeling. Daryl scratched the back of his head.

"Alright. I'll watch the door."

They went opposite ways and for a moment, Rick thought it was clear.

"Hey, are you … feelin' okay?"

He turned to see Daryl, awkwardly turned, looking at him from near the door. Rick swallowed and nodded wonkily.

"Uh, yeah. Fine. Why?" he asked. Daryl's gaze held.

"Just been actin' a little weird, s'all," he murmured, shaking his head and going to the door. Rick's hands clenched as he tried to stop them shaking.

Shit. Shitshit _shit_.

Daryl had noticed. What the hell could he do now? They had been in the store for days now, and God knew how long they'd be stuck. The herd had just grown and was hanging around the store. Trying to leave would be suicide for sure. Rick rubbed a hand over his forehead as he checked the glass and windows boards. He'd just have to suck it up and stay quiet. Keep his eyes to himself.

Over by the door, Daryl's arms were crossed as he thought hard. The sheriff had been looking at him. _A lot_. He'd first noticed it when the stupid ass had stopped fighting to what – watch? And now he was just … _gazing_. Daryl itched his cheek, brow furrowing. No way that guy was trying to hint anything. His wife and son were at their homestead. It meant nothing. Just stares. Maybe Rick was suspicious of Daryl himself. He shrugged it off. No use worrying.

Even so, Daryl found himself watching Rick more, just to see if he was looking again. The man kept his eyes down and shuttered. Daryl shook his head. He should just forget how he'd caught Rick watching as he stretched.

But he couldn't.

Rick awoke. It was early evening. His shoulder hurt from the metal shelf digging into it, the back of his neck aching from being craned sideways. He sat forward, rubbing it and wincing.

"Eat this. We gotta map our way out for tomorrow, the walkers are on the move," Daryl said. His eyes still shut, Rick didn't see the cereal bar tossed at him. It hit him in the chest and he jumped, eyes opening. Daryl smirked, sitting on the counter by the cash register, checking his crossbow. He slotted arrows into it and tested it before sitting back on his hands, the weapon in his lap. He was oddly pensive-looking.

"Look, I …" he began, stopping. Rick looked at him questioningly. Daryl rubbed the back of his neck. "I saw you … lookin' at me. Yesterday."

Rick went very still and cold. His mouth dried up. Not this confrontation. Not now.

Daryl looked him in the eye.

"Got anythin' you wanna tell me?" he asked. Not accusing. Open. Rick felt his skin burning inside.

The silence hung between them, a tense thread. One wrong word and it would snap. Daryl didn't even blink, his eyes burning through Rick's. The sheriff blinked first, looking away.

"No," he said. The lie was bitter on his tongue. Daryl said nothing for what felt like entire minutes before finally blinking too. Rick turned his vision back to him. "You got anything you wanna say to me?"

Daryl paused. Hesitated. Then –

"Nah."

Rick felt as if both of them had lied then, the line taut with deception. But neither was about to accuse the other of lying when he himself had lied. Daryl went to a window and sat looking out. Rick cleared his throat.

"I reckon we could make our way across the lot there," Daryl said, pointing to the glass. He glanced at Rick to get him to come over. Rick heaved up and crossed to join him. Both men squinted out the slats between the wood. A path snaked between cars to a low wooden fence. Over the fence was a car and, past the car, a clear path down a small river.

"If we get to that car, it could run," Rick whispered. Two inches away, Daryl squinted.

"And if it doesn't run?" he murmured, not turning to look, just speaking facing out. Rick tried to hold his gaze out – stopping himself looking at the man inches away, who had lied about having nothing to say.

"Then we keep pushin'," Rick replied softly. He and Daryl turned at the same time, the latter narrowing his eyes. That same painful silence was strung tight.

"Fuck, man," Daryl breathed, breath warm on Rick's face. Rick felt something trickle down his back. Cold sweat. His fingers twitched.

"What?" he asked. Daryl snorted. Rick couldn't breathe.

"Ya need to stop doin' these weird-ass moments," Daryl said, moving away quickly. "It's damn annoying."

"I'm not doin' anything," Rick retorted, looking back out the window. "You're dreamin' it."

"Yeah, sure," Daryl said, a dry humour in his voice. "God, man, are you goin' nuts or are you just distracted easily?"

"I just – stare sometimes," Rick said. _Another lie._

"Well, stop. It's irritatin' me," Daryl said. _Another lie._


	2. Chapter 2: Keeping Secrets

Night fell and when it fell, it fell fast. The light bled from the store, casting vast shadows across the room behind the shelves, leaving only slivers where moonlight fell. Colour bleached from the walls. Birdsong dropped to mute. Nothing but walkers, crickets and their own voices if they chose to speak.

It was nights they were closest. It was cold and dark and neither trusted themselves to sleep in opposite ends of the store for the sake of – what, _heteronormativity?_

The two slept side by side, back to back, with old blankets over their legs. Gun and crossbow in retrospective laps. Some nights Rick would wake up with Daryl's head on his shoulder. One morning, even touching hands. Neither ever mentioned that if it happened. They would just get up and continue their day, nothing mentioned. Because it meant nothing.

 _That fine line we tread is going to meet in the middle._

"Man, it's fuckin' cold," Daryl said, his breath clouding as he went to check the window.

"Stop complainin' and help with this," Rick said, a smile gracing his eyes. He was struggling to light a fire from a pile of old newspaper and a half-empty lighter. Daryl strode across to him and crouched to his knees, taking the lighter. Knuckle brushed bruised knuckle. It only took a moment for Daryl to light it. Orange flared to life below their faces and brought heat. Despite themselves, both smiled.

"Never get enough of that satisfaction," Daryl said, sitting back on his haunches. He scratched the back of his head, meeting Rick's eyes. His smile slid away after a moment. They both sat by the fire, watching the tiny flames dance as the papers curled into black nothingness. Rick kept his eyes down, guarded, refusing to meet Daryl's. He was afraid of what would happen – what his face would give away – if he did.

"What do we got to eat?" he asked, attempting to get Daryl to speak more. He didn't want to do the talking. What would he say?

"Smeat. Not much, but enough," Daryl answered, pushing the can forwards. He finally sat back, relaxed. "Can a'peaches. Bottla sparklin' water."

Rick couldn't help a smile twisting his lips.

"Fancy," he said, grinning at Daryl. Daryl returned it before taking to the can, sticking the blade of his knife into the edge. Rick did likewise with the smeat. Something shot through his chest and sent a lump to his throat. He blinked away the thoughts.

"Somethin' on your mind?" Daryl asked, looking up from his can. The lid was half open. Peach juice ran down his knife. For a moment, word's rolled up in Rick's throat and threatened to spill out. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to say. So he lied.

"No. You?"

Pause.

"No."

Both went back to their cans without saying anymore. Both had lied. Neither would admit it.

"There we go," Daryl said, the can lid finally popping off. Rick prised the lid off the smeat. They took turns eating, swapping cans halfway. No words were said as they ate. The air was heavy with what went unspoken.

"So ... you still got nothin' to admit?" Daryl asked after an hour of silence. The fire was down to embers and he pushed more paper to it with his foot. Rick adamantly shook his head.

"No."

"Me neither," Daryl said under his breath.

"Stop," Rick said. Daryl looked up. "You keep asking me if I've got anything to say. And then agree. What, if I say yes, you'll say it too?"

Daryl narrowed his eyes.

"No. The hell are you on about?" he asked suspiciously. No reply. He didn't push for one.

"You should sleep."

Daryl looked up. Rick's eyes were half shut as he rubbed them with the heel of his hand.

"Man, don't wake up so you can tell me to sleep," he snorted.

"I woke up because you crinkled that bottle of water for the sixth time," Rick replied.

"So sorry my need for water disturbed your beauty sleep." Daryl stood as he spoke and scuffed the fire out with his heel, shifting his jacket onto his shoulders. Darkness enveloped the store instantly, the only light a chink of moonlight through the window near their heads. Rick heard Daryl moving, saw his shadow shift through the dark. A hand brushed his before it was pulled away.

"Sorry. Couldn't see it in the dark."

"S'fine."

"Didn't mean t –"

"I said, it's _fine._ "

Daryl sat by Rick heavily, sighing. He slid the crossbow off his shoulder and put it by his legs.

"Fuck. I'm tired. If we're going tomorrow, we need to rise early to get all we need."

In the dark, Rick saw his eyes, a tiny shard of moonlight reflecting back. They were gazing steadily, narrowed as usual. The sheriff looked away.

"Well. Goodnight."

"... Night."

Rick fell asleep with his back to Daryl's. He dreamed of burning eyes and pupils the size of the moon.

Rick woke before Daryl did. Weak sunlight told him it wasn't even six in the morning. It was silent outside, with only occasional birdsong twittering. Beside him, Daryl was asleep. His fringe trailed over his eyes, hanging from his brow, his head tilted where it rested on Rick's shoulder.

This was keeping his mouth shut. This was Rick at his most painful, the feeling corroding him inside, burning in his stomach. This was not allowed.

This was keeping secrets.

Rick shut his eyes, slowing his racing heart with one, two, three deep breaths. The head on his shoulder shifted – a sleepy mumble, flutter of the eyelids – but didn't wake. Yet. The burning in his stomach was nauseous, knew this was wrong. _For God's sake, remember Lori and Carl._

Still. Rick couldn't shake the feeling.

Beside him, Daryl kept his eyes shut. He had heard Rick wake, felt him shift, pulse picking up under his skin. Pounding. Panicked? Elated? Daryl wasn't sure he wanted to know. Could he confront Rick about it? Was he able to have _that_ question aimed at him, too?

 _Surely ... with Rick's family, back at base ... he would never ..._

Daryl's eyes flicked open. Sunlight was filtering through the windows. His hand rested on his crossbow, the other in the space between them. Rick's hands were resting on his knees. His head turned, eyes not reaching Daryl's.

"You're awake," he said quietly. _I've been sitting with your head on my shoulder since I woke up._

"Only just woke," Daryl said. _I've been awake for hours and felt your heartbeat._

Neither moved, suddenly bone-tired, half done with the lies and the denial. Rick got up first, moving across to the pack of cans and bars. He passed a cereal bar to Daryl, who leaned to take it.

Hand touched hand. Eyes met, closed off. Daryl's lips, just the corners, turning up into a silent, grateful smile. Rick letting go, his fingers numb where they had touched Daryl's.

 _Fuck._

"We gettin' out today?" Daryl asked, half a cereal bar in his mouth as he looked out of the window.

"If the walkers are clear enough, we can," Rick said, checking his holster as he swung the pack onto his back. Daryl squinted.

"Looks like we can get to that car. It doesn't run, we know to keep goin'. Right?" he asked.

"Yeah," Rick responded, his heart finally calming down. It was reassuring – maybe he had been reading into it too much. He was over it already. There was nothing between them.

"Back door or front door?" Daryl asked.

"Uh," Rick said. Daryl looked to him.

"It's quickest down there through the front, but we might get a stealth advantage if we sneak out back. What d'you think?" he explained.

"Oh. Uh. Back, we don't want to get swarmed," he answered. Daryl nodded and took up his crossbow, swinging it onto his back.

"Alright," he said, doing a final sweep of the store for anything they may have missed. He seemed satisfied as he went to wait by the back door, listening carefully. Rick took a deep breath and drew his knife, holding it tight, ready to strike if there was a walker right outside the door. He met Daryl's eyes, both of them by the door, and his head tipped. Signal.

Daryl drew the nightstick free, a metallic _shing_ sound reverberating through the door, and Rick pushed it open. Peered out. No walkers. He and Daryl ran quick and low, Daryl with his crossbow up and Rick with his hand at his belt, at his gun. They stopped when they got to the end of the back wall, Rick leaning round to see the walker count. At least twenty, spaced out. He turned back to Daryl.

"If we run," he said breathlessly, "we could make it without wasting time or bullets. There are walkers, but they aren't in a solid group. Pairs at most."

"So we're runnin'?" Daryl asked. Rick confirmed it. Daryl drew his knife from his belt, just in case. Deep breath in and out. Rick said, "Ready?"

The two rounded the corner, sticking close to the wall of the store. Walkers lifted their heads instantly, eyes swivelling in hollow sockets, diseased pupils fixing on the two men. The raw growls hounded Daryl and Rick as they ran, ducking reaching arms and jagged fingernails. They barely got halfway to the car when walkers began swarming from the trees.

"Shit!" Rick gasped, halting his run, holding an arm out to stop Daryl. Walkers moved towards them in that unbelievably quick shuffling gait. They were surrounded.

"What now?" Daryl asked, his back to Rick's. "Those fuckers are everywhere. We gotta go back."

The car was so close – but if it didn't run, they were as good as dead. Rick cursed again, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Rick! We have to go back!" Daryl shouted above the cacophony of walker snarls. He grabbed Rick's arm to get his attention. "Come _on!_ "

They began to make their way back to the store but the walker herd was growing, and it was getting harder to avoid being scratched or bitten. Daryl elbowed a walker in the chest and stabbed through its teeth, its eyeball bursting into bloody jelly. He freed the knife and continued on to the store. Then he turned. _Where the hell was Rick?_

"Rick!" Daryl shouted, panic blooming in his chest as he scanned the crowd for the sheriff. No way could he have left Rick for dead. No way was the man taken down by just another herd. " _Rick!_ "

A flash of a knife and Rick's face. He was ducked low, taking out walkers as they tried to press him in. Daryl raced across, bow raised to his eye. Three went down with arrows in their skulls. Another fell from his kick, writhing until he half-decapitated it with his knife.

Inside the herd, Rick was finding it harder and harder to dodge the grasping hands and salivating mouths. All his calls for Daryl fell on deaf ears. Surely he wouldn't have been left behind? No, the crowd was thinning – he was being saved. Rick killed the three walkers in front of him, able to stand again. A hand grabbed onto his arm and he spun, stabbing out.

Daryl stared back at him. Rick's lungs stopped working. Neither moved. Then their eyes drifted down, to Daryl's arm, where the knife was buried.

"Oh, _shit._ "

"We gotta – get to the store," Daryl said, wincing. "Man, it's not that bad, just get us in!"

Rick let go of the knife and drew his gun, covering them as they fought back to the store. He held the door open and practically pulled Daryl in, slamming it closed and holding it shut with his back.

"I need your nightstick, Daryl!" he exclaimed, his feet skidding on the dusty floor as walkers tried to force it open. Daryl tossed it to Rick, who jammed it through the handle. The door rattled but the nightstick held tight. On the floor in front of him, Daryl was looking at the knife in his arm. Rick saw it again and fear flooded through him.

"Daryl, let me –" he started. Daryl was holding his knife between his teeth, stretching out a length of bandage. The bow lay next to him.

"I'm just glad you didn't go for my head," he said, teeth gritted. Rick moved over and knelt so he was the same height as Daryl, reaching out.

"Let me, I did this," he said, taking the bandage. Daryl didn't protest. Even though his face was neutral, the sheen on his forehead gave away the pain he was feeling. The knife had pierced his upper left arm, not all the way through but deep enough to do damage. Rick held the bandage and folded a pad of cotton to soak the blood into it, holding a safety pin in his mouth. He met Daryl's eyes.

"Ready?" he asked. Daryl nodded, his free hand taking hold of the knife hilt. He breathed in through his nose. Preparing for the pain. Then he removed the knife.


	3. Chapter 3: Confession

Daryl pulled the knife straight out, his teeth clenched. Blood ran from the wound, streaking down his arm. The walkers were frenzying outside the doors and windows, scratching and fighting to get in. Rick wrapped the bandage tightly around Daryl's arm, trying to concentrate on fixing the injury and not how Daryl's stuttering breaths were right by his ear.

"Hold it there," Rick instructed. Daryl held the loose end of the gauze so Rick could take the safety pin from his mouth and pin the bandage in place. "That should be okay. We need to get back so Hershel can look at it."

"It's fine," Daryl said, lifting his arm experimentally. "I've had worse."

"You want to die of a cut arm?" Rick asked. Daryl snorted and it brought everything Rick felt back.

"Man. Imagine dying because you fuckin' stabbed me. I'd rather go down under a pil'a walkers before that happens."

"Don't get your hopes up. Somebody'll probably shoot you in the head."

"Yeah, right."

Daryl looked with narrowed eyes towards the door where walkers were still scrabbling. "Those bitches had better go soon or these windows ain't holdin' out."

Rick checked his gun and swore.

"Shit. Not many bullets. We won't be able to fight our way out of this. We should board up the doors too, try to strengthen them."

Daryl agreed. He collected boards from the floor as Rick found nails. He used his knife hilt as a hammer, layering wood over the gaps as Daryl held them in place. The store was gradually getting darker as the windows were closed over completely. Limited light came through the front door as he boarded over the glass windows in the frame, covering where the walkers had cracked it. Only very few gaps of light remained, little enough that they found themselves squinting to see for more nails. The reinforcement had good results – it reduced how much the walkers could smell of them, too. The steel back door of the store had a length of pipe added alongside the nightstick to hold it fast.

"You find any painkillers?"

Rick jumped. Daryl was right behind him, holding his arm. The bandages were faintly red. Rick shook his head, taking up his torch and shining it out. Daryl held up his hand.

"Mind the eyes."

"Sorry," Rick said absently, flashing his torch around. He shimmied between aisles, stepping over trash towards the back of the store, half tripping on old cans of soda and empty gas cans. Buried under papers and old magazines, he found a couple of bottles of painkillers and – he smiled – warm, flat beer. He tossed the bottles of pills to Daryl as he came back and, torch in mouth, raised the bottles of beer. Daryl grinned.

"Holy _shit_. That should kill the pain. I haven't beer in fuckin' months."

"Drink responsibly," Rick grinned, handing one over so Daryl could wash down the pills. He popped the cap with a thumbnail and tossed back some pills, swilling beer around his mouth.

" _Fuck me_ ," Daryl said, with the most sincere smile Rick had ever seen. "This is _fuckin' good_."

It was strange. Drinking together, not speaking much, just enjoying the moment. The walkers had died down, losing interest. The sunlight was fading outside and, with the windows boarded over, it was plunging into darkness faster than before. It was the happiest both had been in a long time. For the moment, Rick had even forgotten about Lori and Carl.

"Another beer if you want it," Rick said, poking the bottle with his foot. It rolled towards Daryl with a grating glass sound. As Rick uncapped his own second beer, Daryl fixed him with a gaze.

"You tryin' to get me drunk?" he asked. He felt good. He wasn't drunk – just buzzing, painless.

"How could you accuse me of such a thing? I'm a cop," Rick replied, holding out his bottle. He clinked it against Daryl's. This time, as they each took the first draught from their bottles, the eye contact remained. Time slowed. Stretched out. Close to breaking.

"What?" Daryl asked, lips to his bottle as he spoke. A glazed sheen to his eyes, a relaxed mouth. Not smiling, but almost.

"Nothin'," Rick replied, taking another sip of beer. "How's your arm?"

Daryl shrugged.

"S'fine. Doesn't hurt right now. It's gonna sting like a bitch in the morning. An' my head too, at this rate."

He rested the bottle on his knees, turning it slowly. "I'm just worried 'bout my brother. He could be dead and I'm sat drinkin' with his least favourite person."

"I'm sure he's fine," Rick said, his heart sinking nevertheless. He didn't want to get stuck on the topic of Merle. He wanted to forget the outside world and everyone in it, even just for a night.

"Look, can we – can we not discuss this?" he asked. Daryl stopped turning the bottle and turned that narrow gaze back to Rick.

"Sure," he said quietly. The moment had passed.

To lessen the tension, Rick asked, "Am I your least favourite person?"

"Pffft. As if," Daryl said, looking back at his bottle.

"Nah, you've got me curious now," Rick said, leaning forward. "Who is it?"

"I'm not startin' this," Daryl shot back. "You say first."

"No, I ain't sayin'."

"Then I ain't either."

"Fine with me."

Both drank again, Daryl taking more pills. He itched his arm. Rick stared.

"What?" Daryl asked again.

"I ain't been honest with you," Rick said abruptly. For a second, Daryl didn't react. Then he moved to sit cross-legged, frowning. He put the bottle down.

" _What?_ " he repeated for the thousandth time that night. Déjà vu. Rick sighed, putting his own bottle down. He couldn't back out. Not now. Daryl could read him better than anyone.

"You've, ah ... noticed me ... lookin' ..." he said slowly. Daryl's eyes were narrowed to slits. He was sat incredibly still.

"I ..." Rick swallowed. "Have been ... feeling ... somethin'. For you."

"Seriously?" Daryl asked. His voice quiet – dangerously so. If he'd shouted, it would have been clearer. This whisper gave away _nothing_.

"Seriously," Rick said. His heart was in his throat, threatening to leap out. His palms sweated where he clenched them together. Daryl, again, was unmoving. Without a word, he stood and walked to the opposite side of the store, taking his crossbow with him. The only thing left was the half empty bottle of beer. Rick put his hands to his face and suppressed the anguish. He should've kept his stupid mouth _shut_. But no, now it was out, and he was screwed. Daryl knew – he _knew_ , and he hadn't reacted well. It was over for Rick.

 _What the fuck is Rick thinking?_

Daryl ran a finger along the sharp head of an arrow as he thought – fought – inside – his head. He could see Rick where he had left him, head in his hands. Daryl rubbed his forehead and sighed slowly, steadying his thoughts. Rick had Lori and Carl. He knew it, Rick knew it, everyone knew it. The whole group knew how much Rick loved and cared for his family. He was dedicated to them. No way was what he was saying was ... true?

"What you jus' said," Daryl called, his voice echoing across the silence store. He saw Rick's hands leave his face. He was listening. "You mean ... when you said you're feelin' somethin' ..."

"I mean, I feel for you in a way I don't understand," Rick replied, his voice emotionless. Daryl said no more, watching Rick silently. He didn't know what to say anymore. Something dumb like Me too? Was that even true? Daryl's thoughts were clouded for the first time in a long time. He was normally clear-headed but now, with Rick's confession in the air, it was hard to gather what was true and what wasn't.

"What about Lori? An' Carl?" Daryl asked. Rick's breathing stopped, as if it had only just hit him. He let out a sobbing breath.

"I don't know why. These last few days ... since you and I have become like – like friends, it started. Deep down at first ... but it's been harder to ignore. And I don't ..."

His voice began to crack. "I don't know _why_."

Daryl said nothing. It hurt that he seemed so unaffected. Rick covered his face again. "Now I've ruined what we had ..."

"No you ain't."

Rick looked up.

"I – what?"

"You ain't ruined nothin' yet."

Rick was speechless, staring into the dark where Daryl was. Whether it was mutual feelings or just an acceptance, Daryl wasn't making it clear, but it was the best thing he could have said. They slept in opposite sides of the store, both minds in the same place.

 _I think I love you._

"Still there," Daryl murmured to himself grimly, seeing the walkers all outside. It was an overcast day, the store lit with a diluted grey light. Shadows seeped through the space, painting it almost colourless. Still asleep, Rick was slumped over, arms crossed. Empty beer bottles by his feet. Daryl felt a stab in his heart when he looked at the sheriff. He touched his arm where the bandage was. He needed more painkillers. The hangover wasn't as bad as he'd expected it to be. Nothing better than beer to ease it, he thought as he picked up his half-empty bottle from the night before. He drank some and washed it over his teeth to get rid of the rancid aftertaste that lay on his tongue. The fruity beer sent that familiar warm buzz down his body.

Daryl sat on the counter, bow hanging over his shoulder, sipping the beer and tossing back some of the pills. All the time he was watching Rick. Turning over what he had said inside his head.

 _I feel for you in a way I don't understand._

Daryl had never really _got_ love. Never understood it, never _felt_ it in a romantic way. The only love he had was platonic, for his bow and his brother, for the group of survivors. _Romantic_ love had never even crossed his mind ... even for Carol. But when he looked at Rick, it was like a light inside his mind was switched on. Maybe it was just a connection – kindred spirits and all that bullshit.

"Stop lyin'," he muttered to himself, taking another swig of the beer. "Face it."

"You speakin' to me?"

Rick sat up, opening his eyes blearily, shielding a yawn with his hand. Daryl hadn't realised he was speaking loud enough to be heard. He shook his head, refocusing his gaze to the far window. Rick palmed his forehead.

"Christ. My head. You got any more of those painkillers?" he asked, feeling as if the devil of hangovers had come down onto his skull. Daryl rolled the small white bottle over to the sheriff and held out his beer, too.

"Somethin' to wash it down," he said when Rick looked at him in confusion. Rick took the bottle with a nod and downed the painkillers, _Darylwasdrinkingfromthisbottle_ , and winced as the bitter taste was sluiced down his throat.

"How's it look outside?" he asked, a hand to his head, one eye squinted closed. Daryl craned his head to see out the window.

"Not good. They're still there. Maybe the group'll send someone after us soon. Find us, help us out."

"I gotta say, thank god we covered the windows. This is nowhere near as bad in the dark," Rick said, his attempt at humour failing. Daryl felt the question in his mouth and turned away, making sure he was by the window when he asked it. He didn't want to be looking at Rick, trapped in a gaze.

"How did you know?" he asked. Behind him, Rick frowned.

"Know what?" he asked.

"That you loved Lori." _Or me._

 _It was an unexpected question, from Daryl of all people. Rick put the bottle down._

"I just ... knew. When I looked, it just felt right. It sounds stupid, but it ain't. I knew in my heart it was there."

 _Who was he talking about?_

"Okay," Daryl said. His skin was prickling. Rick was watching him.

"You know, Daryl ... you didn't say anything yesterday. How do you feel about ... about me?"

Rick regretted the question as he asked it because Daryl turned sharply, something in his eye.

"The fuck are you insinuatin'?" he asked, voice low. "I ain't some –"

"Okay," Rick interrupted. "Calm down. I didn't mean no harm by it."

He got up, making his way over to a shelf of old magazines. He began taking pages to burn over a fire. By the window, Daryl returned to facing outside.

Was lying the right thing to do? Regardless, he wasn't about to admit to anything, especially to Rick. If Rick's feelings passed when they got back to Lori, Daryl didn't want Rick to know his remained. It was war inside his mind. If he even said, he wouldn't have a chance. It was better to let it die. Not getting attached would make it easier when one of them inevitably died, too.

Daryl closed his eyes. Listened to Rick behind him. The man felt betrayed and humiliated by Daryl's rejection. He'd opened himself up only to get shut down, without even an apology, anything to lessen the blow.

 _I just ... knew. When I looked, it just felt right._

Daryl looked at Rick's back, where the sheriff was piling papers up, crumpling them with his hands. When he looked, it felt ...

New.

Daryl pushed it away. Words that Merle had spoken years ago came back to him.

" _I don't want my baby brother ending up gettin' hung up on something as fuckin' stupid as feelings. You push 'em down. Forget they ever happened. The world doesn't have time for that sentimental shit."_

As he recalled, Merle had just gone through a messy breakup with some girl. At the time, it had seemed overdramatic. Now, Daryl got it. He didn't want to waste time – emotion – energy – on feelings. So he pushed it down.


	4. Chapter 4: Testing the Water

_Rick was running after Daryl. Calling for him to stop. Walkers were everywhere, around him, clawing at his clothes and hair. His gun was knocked from his hand, his knife missing. His voice was hoarse as he called out. But Daryl just turned, didn't help. Crossbow on his shoulder. Knife at his belt._

 _Rick was taken down, the walkers strangely painless even as they tore at his skin, his flesh. He reached an arm out to Daryl – begging – crying out for a saviour.  
_

 _Still, Daryl just watched. Looking down at him.  
_

 _"You should've kept your damn mouth shut," he said, the voice echoing in Rick's head, becoming his own. I should've kept my  
_

 _damn  
_

 _mouth  
_

 _shut.  
_

Rick sat up gasping, his heart pounding.

"Hey, what is it?" Daryl asked, coming across and crouching by him. "You see somethin'?"

He touched Rick's arm and Rick grabbed his hand blindly. Both jolted.

"The fuck are you doin'?" Daryl demanded, yanking his hand free as if Rick had burned him. Rick stared at him.

"I – thought you had left me," he said, realising how ridiculous it sounded out loud. Daryl frowned.

"Why would I do that?" he asked, standing up again. "You jus' had a nightmare, s'all."

Rick caught his breath. Just a nightmare. His head swam with the fear he had brought with waking.

"Walkers ain't gone yet," Daryl told him from across the store. He was gutting a squirrel.

"Where the hell did you get that?" Rick asked, looking at the bizarre sight. Here they were in a store of – admittedly stale – food, and Daryl was eating a squirrel.

"Back of the store. Heard it scratchin' around, stuck in a box," was the reply. "I'm sick of bars. An' we're outta smeat."

He looked back at Rick. "You fell asleep for a coupla hours. It's gonna get dark soon, so find what you want now. I ain't sharin' this."

"Generous," Rick said, pulling himself up and stretching the weariness from his bones. He gestured at Daryl with a finger. "Let me check your arm."

Daryl put his knife and the squirrel down, turning so Rick could reach the bandage in what light remained. Rick held up his flashlight to see it clearer, unclipping the gauze and peeling back the cotton pad.

"Looks good. Not infected, I mean," he said, leaning in. "I'll change this and then I'll leave you alone."

"Thanks."

Rick grabbed more gauze and another couple of cotton pads, getting Daryl to hold the flashlight with his free hand. He could feel the gaze on the top of his head as he focused on cleaning the wound, swiping it with antiseptic before bandaging it back over.

"There. Not long till Hershel can sew it up," he said, leaning back, holding back on the _hopefully_ that rose up. Daryl kept his gaze on Rick's face, his eyes quiet. For an eternity, they were inches apart, staring at each other. Something flickered in Daryl's eyes but then he turned.

"Get lookin' fast. Sun's sinkin'."

As Rick walked through the store to scavenge more food, his heart was beating hard. That moment where they had just ... stopped. There had been something on Daryl's face, like he was holding back. Rick's eyebrows knitted together. _He feels it too, surely._ But then the hope dropped along with his stomach when he pictured Lori's face – wide eyes, betrayed at what he was thinking. _How could you?_ she said, an echoing whisper, holding Carl close to her. _Him? Over us?_

Rick felt sick at the thought of her finding out. Whatever happened here, it couldn't come back to the farm.

"Might be able to get movin' tomorrow," Daryl said. Rick nodded.

"Daryl ..." he said, his voice dropping halfway as he hoped Daryl hadn't heard him.

"What?"

 _Damn._

"I'm glad we had this time."

"S'cool. Me too."

There it was again. The extra left unsaid. The room thick with secrets. Daryl rubbed his nose with the heel of his hand. Squinted at Rick. Looked to the side. Looked to the floor.

"Look, I ..."

He looked back to Rick. "I didn't mean t'seem rude before ... walkin' off. Jus', what you said, it's ... a lot to take in. 'Specially with ..."

He meant Lori and Carl.

Daryl added, "Look, I like you. Don't make this weird."

Rick smiled dryly. _Then admit it_ , he wanted to say. _Tell me you feel it too and I'll forget this ever happened._ He kept his mouth shut.

It was dark now, the sun below the horizon. Daryl left the window to light the fire. Rick joined him, empty handed.

"I may be tired of eatin' cereal bars but it's all I've got," he said, making brief eye contact with Daryl. A wry smile shared. Another silent meal. They shared the last beer.

Rick kept watch that night, feeding scraps of newspaper to the tiny fire, his eyes flicking up now and again. Daryl was asleep, arms folded over the crossbow in his lap, head tipped back. Rick turned his tired eyes back to the orange flame. He felt the itch in his nose barely a second before he sneezed loudly. To his dismay, the fire was put out.

"Was that a gunshot or a sneeze?" Daryl asked dryly, eyes cracking open. Rick was attempting to light another fire, blindly pushing a stack of page scraps together, but the lighter wasn't responding.

"Out of lighter fluid," he said, sitting back. Cold swept over him now that the fire was gone and he found himself shivering. "I forgot how much heat that fire gave out."

"Don't just sit there bein' cold, y'idiot. Come over here," Daryl said. It was a cloudy night – even that sliver of moonlight was gone. The store was entirely dark.

"Over where?" Rick asked, feeling ridiculous.

"I don't know. I forget. Follow my voice."

"Hard to do when you stop talkin'. Where's my flashlight?" Rick asked, fumbling about. He just felt cans and dust – no flashlight.

"Beats me. Jus', I don't know, find your way over. I ain't gettin' up and crawlin' around."

Rick snorted, almost laughing in the dark. He was reminded of his childhood days, on camping trips, on the breakneck trips to the bathroom in the pitch blackness of night.

"This is stupid," he said.

"You're tellin' me," Daryl said. Rick began to try finding Daryl, waving his hand out in front.

"Am I close?" he asked.

"Can I see in the dark? I don't kno –"

Rick's hand hit something moving and he retracted his arm. Daryl made a noise and said, "that was my face! Watch it!"

"At least I got here," Rick muttered, his eyes adjusting enough that he could see a faint outline which had to be Daryl. He sat next to him, shoulders touching.

"You made that sound a lot harder than it was, I bet," Daryl said, his voice near Rick's ear.

"Shut up," Rick said. It was warmer now, sat by Daryl. He heard the crossbow rest on the ground with a scratching sound, metal against stone.

"I've seen the look on your face," Rick said without warning. Daryl didn't reply. "Earlier. When we just stopped ... I saw it in your eyes."

The moon came out from behind the clouds, briefly illuminating the store through the window gap. The sides of their faces were lit up white. Daryl's was barely two inches from Rick's and he was looking directly at him. Rick's hand twitched. "If you have something to tell me ... this is the last chance you have."

Daryl's eyelids flickered. He looked away, his mouth a thin line. The clouds passed back over the moon, casting them into perfect darkness once again. Rick's heart was in his mouth. He felt as if Daryl was able to hear it.

 _It's not right,_ Daryl wanted to say, _you feelin' like that. When your wife an' son are back at camp. But a voice at the back of his head said slowly, nobody would know. It would stay between us ... here. Then we could forget, pretend it never happened._

"I ..."

 _No guilt. It's just ... testing the water with Rick. Right?_

"What?" Rick asked, his voice soft. Daryl shifted, moving his shoulder away from Rick's. Turned slightly. They were facing in the dark.

"I don't know," Daryl said, barely audible. He hated feeling like this – he wanted his old self back, the one who didn't care, the one who didn't give two shits about _love_ or _Rick_. The _Dixon_ in him. He could picture the distaste on Merle's face.

"You – mean –" Rick was saying. Daryl didn't respond. Rick searched for him, found his uninjured arm. "Daryl – what are you _sayin'_?"

"I'm sayin' ... I ain't been truthful too."

Rick's heart did more than a flutter in his chest – it all but ceased beating when he heard those words, words he'd never expected to hear. He gripped Daryl's shoulder.

"Y – you ... you sure?" he asked. _My heart is going to explode._

Daryl looked to where Rick's hand was, unable to see it in the darkness. He swallowed. Pushed away the trepidation, the prejudicial hate his father had impressed upon him. Still, he didn't speak.

Rick's eyes were wide in the dark. He was breathing shallowly, trying to find Daryl's face. He was hard enough to read as is – here, his vision all but gone, with Daryl silent, it was even harder.

"Daryl," he said hoarsely. "Daryl, _talk to me_."

Where he was holding Daryl's shoulder, he picked up his pulse. It was fast, hammering, like Rick's own. His mind went blank except for one thing – _Daryl feels the same way._

 _Act now,_ a small voice said. _I can't,_ his mind whispered. _What if he pushes me away? Then it's ruined._ The voice said, _only one way you can know._

"Can you get off my arm?" Daryl asked. "You're holdin' pretty tigh –"

Rick raised his other hand, finding Daryl's face, leaning forward as he pulled Daryl in. Sudden. Fast. He tasted beer, gun smoke, a bitter mix. Daryl's hands scrabbled, found Rick's chest, pushed him away.

"The _hell_ , Rick?" he exclaimed, stunned. Rick moved in again and this time, Daryl didn't push him as hard, half-heartedly palming his chest. _This is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong._ In the darkness, neither needed to see. Rick was the one who ended the second kiss. The moonlight came through the window, lighting them up.

"Oh, shit," Rick said, as if seeing Daryl for the first time. "Oh, no, no, no –"

Lori flashed into his head, her face horrified. _Rickhowcouldyou, wetrustedyou, lookatwhatyou'redoing -_

Daryl heard Merle's voice in his ear, hissing, _my little brother's one of_ those _, huh?_

Rick was torn. He let go, hands going to his head. Both of them were breathless, adrenaline spiking.

"This was a mistake," Daryl said.

"No, it isn't," Rick said, looking at him. "It – this is, this is _right_ , this is –"

Daryl was shaking his head, eyes wide in a way Rick had never seen before.

"No, this was a bad idea –"

"Stop sayin' that," Rick snapped, grabbing him by the shoulders. Daryl looked at him, narrowing his eyes.

"What have we _done_?" he asked. "This isn't _allowed_. You're married – Lori an' Carl are –"

Daryl seemed to be getting angry, as if he was blaming Rick. "If you'd kept your damn mouth _shut_ then this wouldn't have –"

Rick didn't let him finish, taking his face in his hands and drawing him in again. He wanted to remember that mix of alcohol and smoke that was entirely _Daryl_ , wanted to breathe it in until Lori was wiped from his mind, wanted to just – leave the guilt behind. Daryl was still tense but he no longer pushed back, one hand even grasping Rick's hair at the back. The shaft of moonlight through the window dimmed and they were in the dark again. Rick breathed in through his nose, his forehead against Daryl's. He felt Daryl's hand in his hair, felt his heartbeat under his skin. The hand slipped away. Let go.

"Daryl –"

"Don't say anythin'," he replied sharply. "Don't – don't make me think."

Rick reached out. Found his shoulder.

"We tell nobody," he said. "When we go back. This ends here. Nothing from this point on. This was – a one off thing."

In the dark, Daryl nodded.

"M'kay."

Rick found his face again. Said no more.


End file.
